CHAPTER 001
The sky above Lagos bled from a deep, inky black to a violent swirl of purple and orange. To Dominic Bellafiore, watching from the thick cover of a line of cypress trees, the colors were a perfect reflection of his soul—dark, angry, and on the verge of spilling blood. The sprawling, white marble estate of the DeLuca family sat serenely below, its high walls and iron gates a symbol of the wealth and power that had protected them for too long. They had taken his brother, leaving Dominic with a gaping hole in his heart and a cold, hard purpose. Today, he would begin to fill that hole with vengeance.
His men, a silent legion in black tactical gear, moved with the precision of a well-oiled machine. They had studied the blueprints, the guard schedules, every weak point in the DeLuca fortress. They were shadows, slipping over walls and past security sensors without a single alarm. The plan was brutal in its simplicity, and Dominic found a grim satisfaction in its finality. Kidnap Isabella, the DeLuca family's golden child, and use her to make his rival pay for his brother's life.
Inside the quiet sanctuary of the villa, Isabella DeLuca was starting her day in blissful ignorance. She sat on her private balcony, a cup of coffee steaming in her hands, watching the same sunrise Dominic observed, but seeing only beauty in the fiery colors. The morning was her favorite time, a peaceful moment before the endless family obligations and social pressures of being a DeLuca began. She thought about a new book she'd started, a historical romance, and smiled to herself. Life was predictable, safe, and controlled. It was a golden cage, perhaps, but it was a cage she had learned to love.
The first sound was a soft thud, like a heavy book hitting a carpeted floor. Isabella's smile faded. She set her cup down, a frown creasing her brow. She moved to the doorway, her ears straining. Another sound, this time a muffled shout from the hallway. Her heart leaped into her throat. This was wrong. This was not the quiet, predictable morning she knew.
She didn't have time to process the fear before her bedroom door was kicked open with a deafening crack. Two men in black masks and combat gear stormed in, their presence a violent stain on the pristine elegance of her room. One moved to her side, his hand clamping over her mouth before she could scream. The other roughly grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands behind her back with a cold, professional efficiency.
Panic, cold and sharp, cut through Isabella's shock. She wasn't the helpless girl they expected. Years of self-defense classes, a quiet rebellion against her family's overprotective nature, kicked in. She twisted, bucking against their hold, her foot lashing out and catching one of them in the shin. He grunted in surprise, but his grip didn't falter. She bit down hard on the hand over her mouth, a fierce, primal instinct guiding her. The man swore, but his hand only tightened, a crushing force that made her jaw ache.
They dragged her from the room and down the grand staircase, ignoring her frantic struggles. She saw a flicker of movement in the main foyer below, and her heart sank. There, standing with his back to the front door, was a man who didn't wear a mask. He was a presence of silent, dangerous power, his face a chiseled mask of stone, and his dark suit a contradiction to the violence his men were inflicting.
His eyes, cold and dark, met hers as the men pushed her toward him. In that moment, Isabella saw not just a kidnapper, but the architect of this nightmare. He saw a captive who wasn't crying, who wasn't begging, but who was fighting with a fiery spirit he hadn't expected. A small, almost invisible flicker of something other than anger passed over his face. He watched her for a beat longer than he should have, taking in her bruised determination, her defiant glare.
He gave a sharp nod, and his men shoved her out the front door and toward a waiting black SUV. The crimson dawn was now in full bloom, casting a menacing red light over the world. As they pushed her into the car, Isabella's last glimpse of the villa was of her beautiful home, now a crime scene. She was being taken from her golden cage and thrown into a fire, and she knew, with terrifying certainty, that she was looking at the man who held the match.